Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Humble Apr 6
When was the last time you were truly happy,
not merely existing but truly alive?
When was the last time you smiled sincerely,
not that rehearsed facade?

When was the last time you were honest with yourself,
embracing your flaws and strengths,
saying what was in your mind,
genuine and unfiltered?

When was the last time laughter flowed freely,
genuine and unrestrained?

When was the last time you spoke passionately,
about something you love deeply?
When was the last time you loved yourself deeply,
accepting every part of who you are?
When was the last time your heart was in sync with your mind,
free and unburdened?

So tell me, when was the last time you were truly you?
Sara Brummer Mar 14
I AM….

A sudden breath of sensation,
neither happiness nor sadness
yet carried on the winds of truth.

In the absence of tenderness
there is yearning for certainty,
damp with longing.

Within a film of fog
little points of dew
pinprick the mind
with hope, guiding
each tiny step toward
the vast path of sun.

Sunset hovers briefly
allowing the darkling
tones of evening as I
become a vessel of
unhurried thoughts.

I am the echo of a far
off river, a dream of
open sky, a translation
into love’s own language.

And sometimes, in a flash
of half-dream, I understand
the art of letting go.

Surrounded by a company
of stars, I am solitude.
Mandii Morbid Nov 2023
I've painted over this canvas one too many times.
I'm running out of colors, I'm running out of ryhmes.

My brush is losing bristles, my hands are losing faith.
This wooden frame is shattered, splitting at the seams.
I don't know if I'll ever, reframe all my dreams.
In my mind they scatter, haunt me like a wraith.

I've painted over this canvas one too many times.
I'm running out of colors, I'm running out of ryhmes.

The paint layers are cracking, my heart is turned to stone.
That heavy burden peeling, again I'm all alone.
maria Feb 23
Night comes for us all.
We watch as color and saturation leak from the world
until just a half sphere peaks in the horizon.
When the sky touches down and up rises the moon,
it is only its reflective glow that we have to light our walks.

Night comes for us all.
Whereas stimuli and light override my senses,
the coolness and silence of night dampens them,
and with it, my thoughts race.
As my body relaxes against cool sheets,
my mind is buzzing,
and my heart tiptoes from one place to another.

Night comes for us all.
United but separate, our experiences are the same.
We look at the same moon and spy the same stars.
We linger on the same wishes,
and in the anonymity that darkness grants,
we dream and ponder and hope
that something hears us, sees us.
And in that dark anonymity of night,
that subtle weight we constantly carry grows,
and we are anchored to the Earth’s core.

Night comes for us all.
We wait for it to pass,
yet every day, we welcome it gladly
for rest or fresh eyes.
It is a gift and a gurney,
a calm and a casket.
Night is what we make it,
and night is what we need it to be.
ANTONIO Ainnoot Dec 2023
Glass half empty, half filled, I cannot philosophize how much of a fool I've been.
To reminisce what we once were, then,
I continuously stare at pictures of you.
My most hopeful assumption is you're blossoming—that you're much happier.

All praise is due to the most omniscient.
Sometimes I wish you weren't so firm in your position.

May your garden be adorned with galore, all your memories recorded, and when you hear your calling, may you not ignore it.
May all your bouquets be orchids, and cups filled to the brim.
I hope that you're in love with all that you've conceived,
And when he sings how much he loves, may you believe in him.
Melody Mann Dec 2023
Alas it was but in that moment, when your soul cascaded into the night sky, that I understood what a goodbye truly meant. A chill crawled down my spine as your body grew colder by the minute beneath my touch; a solemn awakening on my conscience as grief greeted me yet again. This familiar path I feared to embark on again has resurfaced, baring with its somber recollections - I witnessed you…finally at rest.

Her arms would never turn the corner to greet me as I landed from my flight,
The warmth in her laughter shall fall to silent ears as the house ceases to echo,
Those eyes would never challenge the radiance of the sun again,
For it was in this moment I embraced the season of change, the art of letting go.

Letting go is a natural part of life that arises in manners we may never consider. May it be a goodbye placed upon a past lover, a former roommate, an old apartment, even a job site - goodbyes signify the end of a chapter. 2023 bore many moments of letting go for me as I relished in the art of departure. I lost my grandmother, the woman who raised me. This emotion was overwhelming as it marked the beginning of her legacy that I am now adorned to live. I have encountered many moments of goodbye this year: moving states, a heartbreaking end to a relationship, ending a program, seeking a new field of employment, ending a friendship - the list is exhaustive. Yet, it wasn’t until the passing of my grandmother I truly recognized the beauty of letting go.

The art of departure entails embracing what once was whilst creating space for what is to come. Letting go is freeing yourself of expectations - rather having abundant expectancy.
William A Poppen Oct 2023
He seeks reflections
In shadows on walls
expressions induced in others
sounds of praise
to clarify
his current illusion of
who he is

Are there mirrors
Clear enough
To find
A vision that
might become different
might be clearer
a repost
Patrick Jun 2023
is this the place i long to be?
a place where once, in memory
sounds danced, as if alive,
now silenced, and warmth deprived.

gone are those happy days,
swept under hidden waves,
Time, the subtle thief at play
takes what we once held, away

in stillness, i witness life's parade,
the circus closed, its tents set free;
faded hues on past september
dreams once chased, now burn as ember

yet in ashes, a spark may hide,
a glimmer of days gone by;
embrace the past, but do not dwell
existence is a fleeting prize.
Next page